


The Great Pretender

by flootzavut



Series: Next Time [8]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Epistolary, Fantasizing, Homophobic Language, Letters, M/M, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Prose and letters, Rage eats a chicken, Sequel, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, nexttimeverse, queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 10:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15193274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: The things Hawkeye can say... and the things he can't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onekisstotakewithme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/gifts).



* * *

_**The Great Pretender**_

* * *

 

> Beej, I love you, but you're an idiot.

Hawk is glad of the photos BJ sends on several levels. He can see how Beej is doing with his own eyes, see him happy in the sun with his family. He can look, really look, look his fill whenever he wants without worrying BJ will think it's odd he's staring. He gets to see the start of work on the house at Stinson Beach, gets to imagine them all living there in their little slice of heaven.

The unexpected bonus, though, is that when Beej sends pictures, there's usually at least one where Erin's tugging on his nose or Peg caught him just as he lost his balance or he's pulling a silly face simply because that's what BJ does. It's funny and charming and it gives Hawk a reason to write something affectionate and teasing, to slip in an admission that won't seem like a big deal to BJ but gives Hawk an outlet for the inconvenient, uncomfortable and downright inappropriate emotions he can barely keep in. Offering a casual 'I love you' in a letter makes it easier not to let something more incriminating out. Something like 'I love you and miss you so much I want to die.'

It isn't a perfect system, but it helps, a little.

He looks again at the picture Peggy took of BJ with Erin in his lap, reading her a bedtime story. Hawk suspects BJ has no idea Peg's photographing him. He's deeply involved in the story and his daughter, and he's making a face so comic and ridiculous, it's tempting to have the photo framed. It could only improve Hawk's days to start each one with laughter courtesy of one BJ Hunnicutt entertaining his child (and probably his wife) in his own inimitable way. It reminds Hawkeye of  _Androcles and the Lion_ , the stupid and wonderful gentile pun, 'my wife's only five one', how Hawk fell deeper and deeper practically every time BJ opened his mouth or smiled or did anything at all those first few weeks. He can hear BJ's voice, the singsong, once-upon-a-time cadence he used.

He'd give anything to be curled up with them, basking in the warmth and comfort that even just as light and shadow on a photograph is absolutely palpable. And while he'll never stop wishing for more, he thinks being on the edges of this circle of love and affection would almost be enough for him, at least most of the time.

When he looks at photos like this, he thinks there's hope and beauty left in the world after all, and maybe he hasn't lost all his ability to see it.

> It's so good to see you all together. I can just imagine Erin thriving under the attention. I'm sure she's glad to have her daddy back to read her stories and keep her safe from the monsters at night.

He's happy for them all and at the same time intensely jealous - or is wistful a better word? He doesn't want to deprive Erin (or Peggy), but he has monsters of his own, and wishes Beej were available to help fight them.

BJ thousands of miles away is definitely better than no BJ at all, but the one thing he misses about Korea is Beej at his side, Beej hardly ever more than a couple of dozen yards away, Beej sleeping in a cot only a few feet from Hawk's, standing back to back with Beej in the OR. Beej willing to hold him on very bad nights.

He still doesn't know if he's more apprehensive or excited about meeting Peggy.

Erin terrifies him. It's obvious he can't be trusted with a child, and if anything happened to her... well, he won't let it happen, but if it did, nothing could keep him from permanently erasing himself from their lives.

Peggy, though, is equal parts scary and fascinating. He's long since been desperately curious about the woman who inspires BJ's love and devotion, who kept their house and home together while her husband was away, who (if BJ is to be believed) is so to eager to meet Hawkeye.

> I haven't decided when I'll come and visit, but I promise I haven't forgotten. I can't wait to see you all.

It's not quite a lie.

BJ's pictures of Peg are tender and intimate. Hawkeye wonders what it's like to be part of a love like that, warm and passionate and  _requited_.

Then there are photos that stop him in his tracks for entirely different reasons. Some of them are pictures of the house or their plot of land, and Hawk's sure those are the intended subjects, but BJ in shorts, sporting the goofy hat he rescued from the 4077th, draws Hawk's eye irresistibly (not that he's trying to resist); everything else in those pictures inevitably becomes background.

The one that makes Hawk's breath catch in his throat was sent, he's certain, in error, but he can't bring himself to return it. BJ, taking a nap in the sun, loose-limbed and gangly in his chair. If Hawk had to guess, he'd say BJ's taking a rest from manual labour, judging by the sweat stains on his tank top and the way his shoulders glisten in the sunlight.

Whatever the rhyme or reason behind it, he looks good enough to eat. Hawkeye wants to reach through the photograph and touch, to lick droplets of sweat from BJ's shoulders, slip his hand over the sliver of stomach where BJ's top has ridden up. He desperately wants to tug BJ's shorts down, to suck luxuriantly on his cock and wake him with the best blowjob humanly possible.

Even though it's only black and white, it's unbearably vivid - Hawkeye can practically smell BJ, taste him. It makes Hawk instantly hard. He wants to kneel at BJ's feet and worship.

It's difficult to concentrate on writing a sensible letter with that image in his head, and often (like today) he ends up writing two. One suitable to post and one where he pours his heart out, where he tells Beej everything he won't ever admit aloud.

He feels ridiculous, a complete drama queen, but he has to do  _something_  with these feelings. Has to write the things he can't say to BJ so when he writes BJ for real, he doesn't betray himself or torpedo their friendship.

He writes everything down, big things and little things, romantic and filthy and sweet and desperate and sad.

Then he finishes the letter he can send and slips it into the waiting envelope, neatly addressed and with a stamp so it can go straight in the mail.

The other letter he folds neatly into three, but doesn't put in an envelope (in case it somehow got sent by accident), instead adding it to his stack of unsent, unread letters, letters he should probably burn but can't bear to let go of. He knows it's a fantasy, but part of him wants to believe that one day he'll get to tell BJ this stuff, show him. Not that it would make any difference, because Hawk has no illusions; BJ loves his wife dearly, and one broken down wreck of an army buddy is not about to change that.

But if he could confess it all and not have Beej hate him, have Beej forgive him for this mountain of inappropriate thoughts... it might make him feel less of a fake.

> Love, Hawk


	2. Chapter 2

> I feel like a fraud, Beej. I get these letters from you, and you tell me about your wife and your daughter, and it's not that I don't love reading them - I do - but if you knew the kinds of letters I want to write back... if you knew the things I want to do... it's so hard when I'm scared that if you knew me, if you really knew me, then you wouldn't care about me so much. Might even hate me or disown me.
> 
> What am I meant to do with 'Peg says hello and please come visit soon'? She doesn't even know everything you do - all the trauma and what a mess I am. I don't know how she can invite me so easily. I can't help wondering if you're making it sound better than it really is. It's so much easier to imagine that she's reluctantly agreed than that she somehow cares so much about a man she's never even met.
> 
> If she knew - if you knew... fuck, this is so hard. I can't squash the fear that everything will fall apart when you find out. You're not gonna want me around your wife and kid. They won't want me around either.
> 
> Would Peggy like me so much if she knew I dream about kissing you and stripping you out of your clothing, that I want to touch you and lick you and bite you? Would she think I was a good friend if she knew I fantasise about having you inside me, fucking me hard and deep? Would she approve if she knew I studied your body so closely I bet I know it almost as well as she does?
> 
> I wonder if you know how beautiful you are. All golden sunkissed skin and strength wrapped around so much tenderness and softness. Beautiful.
> 
> And it's not like it's just a physical thing, but my God, is it physical. It would almost be worth going back to Korea to see you naked again; just remembering it is almost too much to bear, makes me want to jerk off till it hurts. I wonder if you have the slightest clue how tempting that partition between us was when we would shower side by side. How badly I wanted to pull it open and step through, fall on my knees at your feet and take your cock in my mouth. If I'd thought for a second you'd let me, I would've done it. No reciprocity required, not a word said to anyone else.
> 
> I would've done anything to taste you. I still would.
> 
> I don't think Peggy would approve, do you? I doubt she'd be so enthusiastic to meet me if she knew I'm... whatever they call it these days. A pervert. Wrong in the head. ~~A fag~~. If she knew how much you turn me on.
> 
> Hell, you wouldn't exactly be queuing up to let me get you off. And sex is one thing. At least it's something we could pretend is just satisfying a need. But sex hardly scratches the surface of what I want. Of course I want you naked and writhing and begging for release, but I'd give the world for five minutes with your head on my shoulder and your hand in mine. I'd give my entire life to kiss you even once.
> 
> Not that it matters. Let's be honest, Beej, you wouldn't be fighting so hard for me if you knew what I wanted to do to you, or have you do to me. If you knew what I am. You'd probably think I deserve what I'm going through. Maybe you're right, but not for that reason. I don't think I'm being punished because falling in love with a man is as easy for me as falling in love with a woman. I think there are far worse things I've done.
> 
> Part of me wishes I'd told you. Even if I never confess how I feel about you, surely eventually you'll figure out I'm bent, and if that makes you give up on me, well, I'd rather know sooner than later.
> 
> Another part wants to hold on to the lie as long as possible, because keeping you in my life under false pretences is infinitely better than losing you.
> 
> And a tiny part that's forgotten to be cynical wonders if by some miracle maybe you wouldn't hate me. And oh God, what if I'd met you years ago, when we were young and unattached and not so beaten up?
> 
> I know it's stupid and counterproductive, but I can't help imagining what it would be like to make love to you. Your skin against mine. I can almost taste your mouth, I can picture it so vividly. Oh God, Beej, I want you so bad I could scream. Sometimes late at night when I'm touching myself and thinking of you, I slide a couple of fingers into my ass and imagine they're your fingers, imagine you're getting me ready so you can fuck me. I know you; you'd take it slow and gentle because you wouldn't want to hurt me, and because you'd love making me whine and beg. You'd make me feel every inch of your beautiful cock and I'd want to die and want it never to end.
> 
> God, I wish that could come true. I want you so much. The difference between what I want and what I have any chance of getting is so huge it's almost comical. I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so damn much.
> 
> I want everything. Everything. I want you sweaty and naked in my arms, I want to kiss you hello, I want to hold you close and sleep, I want to simply be able to see you every day and enjoy looking at you.
> 
> It's not what you signed on for, I know. You'd probably hate me if you knew, and that kills me. But I love you so much, BJ Hunnicutt, and that's the truth.
> 
> Yours always,
> 
> Hawkeye

* * *


End file.
